


Compromised (Your Love is My Drug)

by thecarlysutra



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Aftercare, Cunnilingus, Drugs Made Them Do It, F/M, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Marathon Sex, Sex, Something Made Them Do It, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:14:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23902918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecarlysutra/pseuds/thecarlysutra
Summary: Natasha is compromised during a mission in a completely unexpected way.Set between CA:TWS and AoU. Title from Kesha.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanov
Comments: 6
Kudos: 108
Collections: Id Pro Quo 2020





	Compromised (Your Love is My Drug)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [flipflop_diva](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flipflop_diva/gifts).



  
Natasha lay on her belly on the roof, watching the mark through the sights of her rifle. 

"Anyone do anything fun over the weekend?" she asked. 

"Comms chatter," Steve admonished. 

"I saw that girl again," Sam said. "We went to one of those Brazilian steakhouses. They give you so much meat!" 

"Did you give her any meat?" Natasha asked. 

" _Comms chatter_ ," Steve said again. "Natasha, do you have eyes on Elliot?" 

"That's a positive, Red Leader. Traveling with three bodyguards, one on either side and a shadow about six feet back." 

"Stop calling me Red Leader." 

"Have you not seen that movie?" Sam asked. 

"Natasha, does Elliot have the package?" Steve asked. 

"I haven't seen it, but if he doesn't, he's really in love with that briefcase." 

"Sam, are you in position?" Steve asked. 

"One minute." 

"Natasha, get downstairs. Sam and I will deal with the bodyguards; you get that package off Elliot." 

"Roger that." 

By the time Natasha made the lobby, she could see Sam and Steve across the street, grappling with the bodyguards. Elliot was running away from the skirmish, traveling south, where a black town car was struggling to move through traffic. Natasha went after him, sliding over the roof of a car as she crossed the street, arriving at Elliot's position with enough momentum to knock him off his feet as she landed on hers. She grabbed the briefcase, and started to run north to the rendezvous point. 

"I've got the package," she said. 

Elliot was running after her, having recovered from Natasha's assault. The black town car veered onto the sidewalk as Natasha ran past; she jumped to avoid being hit, a stumble in her gait, and then the passenger's side doors were opening, and two men in dark suits came out. 

"That doesn't belong to you," the taller man said. 

"To be fair, it doesn't belong to you, either," she said, and swung the briefcase at his face, where it collided with a sickening crack as his nose was crushed. The other man came at her from behind, and she pushed back against the tall man to get the leverage to kick the other man in the head and chest. He stumbled, cursed. Natasha ran, briefcase in hand. 

"How about a little help, boys?" she asked. 

Before anyone could answer, Natasha was hit from behind with a great, blunt force. The briefcase went flying out of her hand, skidding over the concrete, the leather torn and scuffed. 

Natasha twisted around to find Elliot wrapped around her legs; she punched down with both hands on his back, and kicked at whatever she could hit. He cried out and released her. 

"Inbound," Sam said on comms. He swooped down to grab the briefcase, then flew off again. 

Elliot pulled a gun out of his coat. Before Natasha could reach for hers, he fired, and Natasha felt a sharp pain in her leg. She looked down; there wasn't a bullet hole, but a thin dart sticking out of her thigh. She yanked out the dart, then kicked Elliot in the face. He stayed down. 

She looked up to see Steve walk up. 

"Didn't you call for backup?" he asked. 

She shrugged. "You were late." 

***

They returned to Avengers Tower, and delivered the package to the lab for inspection. Sam, Steve, and Natasha cleaned up, then met in the kitchen to debrief. 

"We didn't count on the two in the car," Steve said. "That was sloppy." 

Sam crunched on an apple. "I'm taking the win, Cap." 

Steve was talking, but the sound faded away. Natasha couldn't hear him over the sound of her own breathing. Her vision undulated like when heat would bend the air around it. 

She stood up. "They did something to me," she said blearily. She grabbed onto the table to steady herself. "Put something—put something in me." 

Steve's eyes widened. "We should get you to the infirmary. They could have poisoned you." 

_That sounds logical,_ Natasha thought. She went to take a step toward him, but she couldn't feel her body anymore; darkness was closing in around the edges of her vision, but she could see enough to know she was falling. She couldn't feel the impact. She saw in smears, people in motion around her, but then the darkness swallowed everything up, and she slept. 

***

Natasha woke in an unfamiliar bed. She was staring up at a white ceiling, at fluorescent lights. She breathed in, felt the air fill up her lungs. It felt like it took a long time. She turned her head, and saw bulletproof plexiglass, a cage all around her. 

"Uh oh," she said. "Am I in prison?" 

"You're in quarantine." 

The voice came from her left, and she quickly turned her head to see the speaker. Steve, looking a bit worn but fond, was sitting in a chair by her bed. 

"When Dr. Cho ran tests on whatever's in your bloodstream, it freaked her out enough that she tried to call the CDC. Stark was able to dissuade her, on the concession that you be quarantined until they figure out what's going on." 

Natasha fiddled with the buttons on the bed until it sat her up. "I'd hate to be Typhoid Mary. How'd you get stuck babysitting?" 

The tips of Steve's ears went pink. "I'm not _babysitting_. I'm keeping you company." 

"It's because of the serum, right? They think if I'm contagious, your superhuman cells can fight it off." 

Steve's blush spread to his cheeks. "That's the theory." 

"Well, I'm feeling much better, Rogers. How about a jailbreak?" 

"No way." 

Natasha frowned. "So you are babysitting."

"You said you didn't want to be Typhoid Mary." 

Natasha sighed. "You're right. So. Cards?" 

"Oh. I—that seems like the kind of thing I should have thought to bring in here, yeah." 

Natasha rolled her eyes, but she couldn't maintain her irritation. She looked at Steve, head ducked slightly, pink cheeked. Captain America was a Boy Scout. 

"Can we communicate with the outside world? Maybe request an Xbox and a couple of cheeseburgers?" 

"Oh, sure," Steve said. "I think there's an intercom here somewhere—" 

He left his chair, started searching along the wall. He found the intercom on the other side of Natasha's bed. He pressed the button. Before he could speak, Tony's voice came over the speaker:

"Good evening, Killer Queen. Any fascinating symptoms we should know about?" 

Natasha spoke. "We were just wondering if you could send us a care package, Shellhead. Food, a deck of cards, you know, whatever you usually send your friends in prison." 

"A foil key, cigarettes, and some copies of _Hustler_? If you insist, Agent Romanoff." 

No more than fifteen minutes later, someone in full medical protective gear delivered a large box. Steve set it on the bed, and the two of them pawed through it. Tony had sent enough food to keep them for a week, an assortment of books and games, and, true to his word, a carton of cigarettes and a year's worth of dirty magazines. 

They put the box on the floor and ate fresh sushi on Natasha's bed. 

"This isn't so bad," Natasha said. "At least the company's good." 

Steve smiled, and turned away to whisk their trash into the proper receptacle. When he turned back, his heart skipped a beat. Natasha's eyes were glazed over, and her breathing was shallow. She was flushed and shaking. 

"Natasha!" Steve said. Natasha didn't bat an eyelash. He jumped on the bed, grabbed her face to try to get her to look at him. 

She did. Her eyes zeroed in on his, and then, without a word, she pounced. In one quick movement, she had him beneath her, on the bed on his back. She straddled him at the waist, and she moved her hips, grinding against him, and groaned. 

"Oh my God," she said, "I need—Steve, I'm sorry, I think I'm—I don't know what's happening to me—"

"I'll call for the doctor," Steve said, and started to move from under her to get to the intercom. But Natasha grabbed him, and pinned him again, his back to the wall, her in his lap, her lips on his neck. 

"I need to have sex with you right now," she said. Then she took a deep breath, and looked him in the eye. "Steve, get out of here. I'm not in control of myself. I don't want to—I don't want to make you do anything you don't want to do. Get out of here, now. Please." 

Steve started to go. But then the intercom came to life, Tony speaking with uncharacteristic gravity. "Dr. Cho has deciphered the substance Natasha was injected with. Steve, come upstairs, and we'll talk about it—" 

Natasha smashed the intercom button. "Tell me now, Tony. No pussyfooting around. No figuring out how to save me without letting me know how bad it is. Tell me now." 

There was a pause, and then Tony came back on. "You're right. Sorry. It's basically a time bomb, Natasha. If you can't keep your dopamine and endorphin levels up, and I mean way up, until we can find a cure, you're going to die. It's like _Speed_ , only—" 

"Only with sex," Natasha finished. "I need to have sex, or I'll die." 

"Yes. And lots of it. I hate to be indelicate, but how can we help? Is there someone you'd like us to call, or—?" 

"I can do it," Steve said. "Natasha, I can help you. Let me help you." 

"I don't want you to do anything you don't want to, Rogers," Natasha said sharply. 

He met her eyes. "I won't be." 

She was quiet for a long moment. "Oh," she said softly, and then she pressed the intercom button again. "We're good here, Tony. Let us know when you've got the antidote. In the meantime, Cap's got it." 

"Roger that." 

The intercom was quiet. Natasha was still in Steve's lap. She looked at him. "So when I kept trying to find you a girl, and you kept making excuses—?" 

"It was because the girl I wanted was the one right in front of me," Steve said softly. 

She studied him for a moment, and then leaned in to kiss him, her fingers sliding through his hair. Steve remembered the kiss on the escalator, and this was not that. That had been brief, closed-mouthed, passionless. This was hot, wet, hungry, open. Natasha shifted in his lap, pressing him against the wall, deepening the kiss. Steve tasted her, breathed her in, her scent, the feel of her all against him. He put his arms around her, held on, pulled her in closer, sternum to sternum. 

"Let me," Steve said. "Natasha, let me do this." 

He lifted her, shifted them, laying her down beneath him. He traveled down her body, tugging her pants off and throwing them off the bed. She parted her legs for him, and he came up between them, pressing kisses to her knees, the insides of her thighs. Natasha sighed, her eyes squeezing closed. 

"I trust you," she breathed. 

Steve smiled, and he slipped her panties down her legs. They fluttered to the floor, and Steve leaned down between her legs and ran his tongue down her sex. 

Natasha exhaled slowly, raised her hips slightly at the touch. Steve dipped his tongue into her, then licked up slowly, the taste of her collecting on his tongue. Sweet, briny, slightly metallic, a bit like kissing her mouth, a bit like coming home. He ran his tongue over the magnolia petals of her inner lips, then sucked at the bud of her clitoris. Natasha moaned quietly and bucked up into his mouth, and he flicked his tongue over her clitoris until she shook. She was dripping like the first bite into a fresh peach, and Steve teased her with his mouth and fucked her with his fingers until she came, her body quaking, a breathy moan tearing from her lips. 

She ran her fingers through his hair. 

"Where did Captain America learn to do _that_?" she asked, and let out a surprised yelp when he landed a light smack to the outside of her thigh. 

"Not Nazi Germany."

She laughed and stretched, and looked down at him, winding her fingers into the fabric of his shirt and using the hold to pull him up her body, like a dog on a leash. 

"You've got me all warmed up, Rogers," she purred. "Now what are you going to do with me?" 

He kissed her. She pulled off his shirt, threw it aside. They wrestled with the front of his pants. It was fast and needful and a little clumsy, but they got him out of the rest of his clothes. He rested his body atop the length of hers, not letting her hold all his weight. He reached down, touched her gently, getting the lay of the land, and she spread herself open for him. He angled his cock and then pushed inside her in one firm, steady movement. Natasha gasped quietly, and he took up a strong, even tempo as her legs wrapped around him, her boa constrictor's hold urging him on, urging him deeper. He could feel her pulse rabbiting, could feel her small hands curled around his biceps. He watched her flush, her mouth tremble, as he brought her to climax again, again, again. 

***

They lost track of time. It had been hours, the two of them intertwined, Natasha's blood full of the dopamine and endorphins that kept her alive. They rested, sometimes, in between, curled up together, and they were like this, catching their breath, when Tony's voice came over the intercom. 

"I'm coming down with the antidote, lovebirds. Five minute warning." 

They looked at each other. Natasha pressed the intercom button. 

"Can it be a twenty minute warning?" she asked, and Steve laughed, pulling her close, kissing her senseless. 

***

Tony administered the antidote, and Dr. Cho hooked her up to an IV of fluids in a bed in the infirmary upstairs. No more quarantine; Natasha was cured, and would be good as new. Steve sat next to her while Tony and Dr. Cho medicated her, and when they left, he went through the drawers for a few supplies. 

"I thought the doctors left," Natasha said wryly, eyeing him. 

"You've been through a lot," Steve said, coming back to the bed. 

"It's not like it was torture, Steve." 

"No, but you could still use a little looking after." 

She sighed, laid back, but she was smiling. "Okay, Doctor Rogers, let me have it." 

With a warm, damp cloth, Steve cleaned her thighs, her sex. He was gentle, but he noticed her flinching. It had been pleasurable, but also a lot for an un-super serumed human to take. He brushed back her hair and righted her loose hospital gown, and then he smoothed the covers over her and lay down beside her, tucking her against his chest, careful of the IV. 

For a while, he just held her, listening to her breaths lengthen and slow. After a while, he said softly, "Maybe once you're in fighting shape again, I could take you to the movies." 

She was nearly asleep, her eyes closed, but she smiled. "It's a date. Be on time this time, huh?" 

He chuckled. "I promise."  



End file.
